Ankyra Sound long and weary my road has been

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He's not a smiler, not really. What comes closest is something more like a grimace. He gives her his best approximation, amused by the jest. Then her question brings his face to solemnity once more, and he turns toward the waves, the wind rippling through the thick pelt at his neck. I claim it, Eurycrates says firmly, gaze fixed on the horizon. It is mine.
The gilded orbs cut, sharp, to the woman, focusing on her words, now. Yours? he asks rhetorically, then he slides his eyes over to the large young man, staring him down. His? The titan lets out an impatient snort, not sure how to feel in the moment. Conquest is so difficult, a forked road--ally or die. He doesn't particularly want to do either.
You speak of them with such scorn, he says, admiring her barbs. I like it. Will you help me kill them? He blinks slowly, infinitesimally, his face like stone. We can take the cliffs, too. The whole shore, if the numbers are in our favor.
The wheels of his mind are spinning madly.

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